Written By The Winners
by Funky In Fishnet
Summary: Henry asks difficult questions and Killian answers them. Emma listens.


_**Disclaimer: **I own nothing._

_**Author Note: **Set in the future, once everybody's back in Storybrooke, so it'll probably turn out to be AU._

* * *

**WRITTEN BY THE WINNERS**

"You knew my Dad."

Henry's non-question made Emma freeze, her foot about to take a step, her hand about to reach for leverage. She saw Killian's spine stiffen, she couldn't see his face but she knew what expression he'd be wearing – pained for a second before a hard mask slipped into place. It was a look he wore whenever anyone mentioned Milah.

Emma's stomach clenched, part irritation, part strangled amazement. Was there anything Henry was afraid to ask? Whatever impulsive bravery had spawned his grandparents' fairytale was obviously strongly present in him too.

Henry didn't say anymore, his gaze stayed fastened on Killian, eager and interested. Henry always wanted to hear more stories, and he always wanted to know more about his father. Emma swallowed down the ball of pain that always bobbed too close to the surface when she thought about Neal. Henry deserved a better legacy than that.

Killian was moving again, nodding, and an excited smile broke out across Henry's face. Emma sagged back against a sturdy mast and hoped that neither of them had noticed her. This, she wanted to hear.

"He was your age, or there abouts," Killian started, his gaze flickering from the horizon to Henry and then back again. "He was a good sailor."

Killian was leaving a lot unsaid, stuffed between each word. It was silent but Emma heard it anyway. Henry would too. Sure enough, his expression pinched into a frown.

"But he came from the Enchanted Forest, didn't he?"

When it arrived, Killian's smile was bitter and he let Henry see that. Emma wanted to break up the conversation, to shield Henry from the pain of his family history, from what she'd gone through. But he'd always been desperate to know more and he hated being lied to, Emma's head pounded and her chest hurt. Indecision almost jerked her forward, but then Killian spoke again.

"Your father fell between worlds and landed here. I thought..." Killian shook his head, an ocean of regret and self-loathing guilt going unspoken. "He found a place here, until the Lost Boys came."

Henry's expression crumpled, memories of his own time spent in that camp dominating his face. "They took him?"

Killian paused only briefly, though it felt like forever to Emma, her heartbeat loud and wild in her ears until he continued. "I gave him up, in exchange for my life and the lives of my crew."

It was an unapologetic statement that fit Captain Hook perfectly. Killian Jones was the one who carried the regret and guilt. Emma had heard it before, over rum and recriminations followed by hushed kisses and urgent hands. She pressed her lips together, feeling the bite of teeth. Henry deserved better than this.

Henry wasn't shouting or crying though, he was frowning. Killian stood like he was preparing to weather the worst storm imaginable. Emma's heart turned over.

"But you didn't want to," Henry said at last, another not-question.

Something painful rippled through Killian's expression and he nodded once, his eyes silently saying how extraordinary Henry was. Yeah, Emma still felt that too.

"I didn't want to," Killian confirmed aloud.

He didn't say anything about Milah, about how much she'd regretted abandoning her son, about the promises he'd made to her which Baelfire, Neal, had furiously rejected. He didn't lie, he just kept all of that silent and sealed. Henry hadn't asked about Milah yet, he was smart and had probably realized by now that the truth was sometimes too painful for people to talk about. Or maybe he just hadn't gotten to Milah yet on his list of questions. Fuck. Emma blew out a breath.

"I'm sorry," Henry said suddenly.

Killian sounded as startled as Emma felt.

"For what, lad?"

"I'm sorry my Dad won't talk to you."

Killian's expression turned bitter again, because Neal still refused to have anything to do with him, just as Killian hated to be anything close to civil around Gold. _On the bright side, we'll never have any full family reunions_ Emma had told him one night. Killian had drunk a lot of rum that evening. Emma remembered the marks her nails had made down his back, the fingerprint-bruises he'd left on her hips.

"Come here."

Killian led the way to the ship's wheel and pointed out the carvings. Henry squinted at them. Emma had traced their shape a hundred times herself, she knew them by heart. Sometimes, she dreamt that they were carved into her palms.

"That is how your father learned to steer a ship."

Killian stepped back in clear invitation and Henry's eyes lit up. He scrambled to take his place behind the wheel, excitement and happiness spilling out of him. Emma's lips turned upward. Killian had a look about him sometimes, like he couldn't believe anyone was trusting him with a child again. It was the only thing Neal agreed with him about.

"Takes a large crew of course," Killian was telling Henry.

"So how will we do it?"

"Oh…"

At that point, Killian raised his head and fixed his gaze directly on Emma, as though he'd known she was there the whole time. Heat skittered down Emma's spine; being the center of Killian Jones's attention always did that. She could tell that he felt the same way whenever her gaze was on him. Thankfully, Henry didn't pick up on that particular nuance of mood.

"…with your Mum's help, I reckon we can do anything."

The heat inside her mellowed to something bigger and warmer, Killian didn't sway his gaze and Henry looked shiny-eyed and happy and not like he was being lied to. But she couldn't convince Neal to forgive Killian, or Killian to stop snapping whenever Gold was nearby or vice versa. She couldn't cut away the pain that irreversibly took root when children were young, scared, and angry.

"Emma."

Around most people, Killian called her Swan or Princess. Hearing her name on his lips still made her heart twist. He always referred to Neal as Baelfire, because he didn't know Neal, Neal wouldn't let him. Emma couldn't remember when she'd first started calling him Killian instead of Hook.

"Mom?"

That always got her attention and her lips lifted in response. The warmth increased and she was finally in motion again, walking towards the two people who had hands on her heart. Killian's fingers brushed hers as she reached his side.

"Fair weathers, lass?"

Killian's voice was soft and inquiring, his usual tease glossing the surface whilst the inquiry was genuine underneath. Henry was handling the wheel with care. Emma glanced at the pirate, uncomfortably aware from past experience that he was unnervingly skilled at gleaning her thoughts. She could feel the familiar defensive knife-edge that still erupted from inside around her vulnerabilities. Her expression wavered.

"For now."

His fingers became firm around hers. Emma held on until they both bruised.

_-the end_


End file.
